Build Me a Tower and Never Let It Fall
by Panda musume
Summary: "Happy birthday, he hears himself say. He doesn't know why he says it so quietly, so softly, as if the person he's giving it to doesn't deserve anything less than wishful dreams and happy memories." -A series of drabbles, ficlets, and oneshots detailing the firsts of the HxH cast. /Send me a character and a prompt, and I will try to make it work/Chapter 2: Illumi and poison/
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is a series of oneshots/ficlets/drabbles detailing the first times (interpret it however you like) of the hunter x hunter cast. I don't plan on a chapter limit, since it's mainly a way for me to release stress and to churn out some writing when I'm not working on Cacophony.**

 **Also, if you guys have any prompt suggestions (in regards to first times) leave a PM, review, or even send me a message on my tumbr blog (pandaffmusume) ! Send me a character and a prompt title or summary and I will try to make it work( *^*). If I'm writing with nsfw in mind I will leave warnings in the A/Ns.**

 **An additional also: Unless you're an anon, I'll be answering reviews via PMs now due to my updates being colossally slow .**

 **Disclaimer:** **The only thing that belongs to me are my OCs. Everything else belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi-sensei**

 **Enjoy~**

 **-x-**

 **Prompt title: Escape**

 **-x-**

Build Me a Tower and Never Let It Fall

Ch. 1: (Killua)

.

.

.

The jagged edges of poisonous plants brush against his ankles. They don't hurt; they've stopped hurting a long time ago when he was four and didn't double over from eating dinner anymore - but there are more important things to think about than childhood memories and scars on his body. Right now, all he needs to do now is run run _run-_

He keeps low to the bushes, maneuvers around the butlers he knocks unconscious and ignores the resonating shrieks that can only belong to his mom because _God,_ that woman can scream.

He passes by Canary, who he allows himself to slow down for.

"Killua-sama," she starts, voice steady.

"I have to go," he breezes past her as his hand slams against the pressure point on her neck. He can't take any chances ( - he can't deny the way she lowered her staff- ).

 _Go_. Killua stops looking back and runs.

He scales the stones of cliffs and skates across the pavement until he exhales with a shudder. There is an energy thrumming in the air, pulsating all the way to his bones. There is a sort of desperateness, some choking sensation telling him to move, to scream, to shout, to whisper _happy birthday._

There is no systematic rhythm to his awakening senses. It's as if the sky has always been blue and the grass has always been green and the poison in his gut from breakfast is just as delicious as chocolate.

Today is just a bit different.

But Killua, for his life, cannot remember why this day is so special. He recounts what he's had for breakfast and lunch and dinner and only finds the same restlessness he's had since he woke up. There are snapshots and swirling images of _onii-chan_ and a blurred out name. When he tries to reach for it, to hold it against his chest, he's rewarded with an eye staring into his soul and a fear that precedes the bone-deep confidence in the sharpness of his claws -

(He knows his family's up to this, always pulling the weird, voodoo magic from their asses and shoving it down his throat like it's the best thing he'll get. They think they can control him. They think they can turn him into someone who's only worth their wild eyes and bloody shirts.

He hates to say that they're right. They've _been_ right since the time they put a plate of food in front of him and mom told him he was such a good boy for eating it.)

- _Happy birthday,_ he hears himself say. He doesn't know why he says it so quietly, so softly, as if the person he's giving it to doesn't deserve anything less than wishful dreams and happy endings.

He stops the hot memory reel of cold dungeons and manila folders and dad's eyes and mother's overbearing attitude. When he starts the countdown on the siblings he counts four of them, excluding himself. His brain brushes against Kalluto's face and aniki's eyes and Milluki's sorry ass. When he gets to the fourth one - _huh, was there a fourth?_

 _(Onii-chan - )_

The eye burns a hole through him even when he runs the whole night to the harbor. He has to get out, has to stop staying with those people.

He has to find Allu -

 _(Onii-chan - )_

 _Who are you?_

His mind swirls. He feels the eye slowly blink out of existence after he's done battering a post to oblivion and cursing someone ( _whowho_ _ **who?**_ ) to the depths of hell.

When Killua looks towards the harbor again, he can't remember why he was angry in the first place.

He digs through his memory, filters through a _Hunter Exam_ and a ship that only comes once a year. He clings onto the image of his mother's cut-up face and the hole in his brother's side.

He feels the resolve slowly seep back into him. His family's not here, he doesn't have to worry about them finding him, he will decide how to live his life. Right.

When he steps onto the boat, smirk on his face and confidence in his claws, he can't help but feel that something's wrong. He looks around for large, blue eyes seeing him off, and when the eye comes back, Killua forgets. His paranoia is replaced with the rocking waves under his feet and the smell of salt in the air. When his brain tries to probe its way to another breakthrough, another _reason_ , Killua just tells himself that he is alive and he will decide how to live his life.

He doesn't want to admit that he's stopped searching because of some faceless apparition he can't even put a name to. He's not afraid.

He's not.

-x-

(It is the first time Killua runs away from home, and the rush of rebellion is stamped out by the questions he's trying to push away.)

 **-x-**  
 **A/N: Do you have those days where you just squint at your writing and ask yourself "What the fuck is this shit", b/c that's been me everyday so far {0~0}/ But anyways, I've always wondered how readers/writers perceive other people's fanfics. It makes Panda-sama curious.  
**

 **Oddly enough, this fic was inspired by a heart I dissected in bio a week ago. A picture of the Zoldycks popped up in my head and the rest was probably my brain high off of tea.**

 ***This date isn't the date of Alluka's birthday. In fact, the HxH wiki doesn't have a designated birthday for her.**

 **I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Leave a review or PM if you liked anything or found something wrong with the characterizations. I shamelessly urge you guys to also follow my tumblr, Pandaffmusume . I post nonsensical bullshit on my characters, fanfiction excerpts, and fanart. Well then.**

 **Til next time~**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Prompt suggestion was "Ilumi's first time having poison", submitted by Sano Sauro.**

 **Disclaimer: The only thing that belongs to me are my OCs. Everything else belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi-sensei**

 **Enjoy~**

 **-x-**

 **Prompt title: Poison**

 **-x-**

Build Me a Tower and Never Let It Fall

Ch. 2: (Illumi)

.

.

.

Illumi's first memory is when he is two years old and hungry.

It is a hazy thing, a moment of tranquility before he spends his free time caked in blood and skulking around dark, narrowed passageways. A small snippet of childhood where the inkling of his family's profession was just an inkling and the only things dirtying his hands were the food on his plate and not the heart of some grey-haired CEO.

It is, perhaps, a special memory. Like all childhood memories, it has been altered to fit through the cogs of his brain, to remain distinguishable despite its age. But ultimately, the whole does not matter. It is in the little pieces - the minuscule moments twisting together and falling apart that remain as they are.

It begins like this:

-x-

His mother sets a plate down in front of him, gourmet food brought in by stone-faced butlers and trembling hands. The young woman who is tasked with pouring the drinks does so with pinpoint efficiency and shallow breaths, eyes timidly glancing back and forth from him and his mother.

Illumi is two years old and he knows for a fact that he is not the one they are afraid of. Kikyo and Silva Zoldyck are forces that can make the impossible happen, that can tear holes into the Earth and render gravity useless; it is one of the first pieces of information he hoards to himself from late night whispers and kitchen gossip. His family is powerful, and they take care of their own. He also knows that, for some reason, Kikyo loves to make things squirm.

Kikyo also loves to run her fingers through his hair and kiss him goodnight.

Today's snack is a brioche bun baked to a caramel hue. The softness of it melts into his mouth when his mother coaxes it in, bit by bit until one cheek is ballooned to the size of his toddler fist. His mother smiles sharply, tells him a bit forcefully that _you're supposed to swallow it, darling. Not play with it._

Illumi stares at his mother with blank eyes as she gazes at him expectantly, mouth pursed together as if she's never had a break. So, because of that, and because it is _mother_ , Illumi guides the food with his tongue and swallows. His eyes never leave Kikyo, who starts to look washed out and hazy, the colors of her kimono wearing away against the snap of darkness.

Everything seems to go wrong when the food goes down to his gut. Illumi flails, a bit too ungracefully for his mother's standards, falling off of the dining room chair and onto his toddler knees. There is the white-hot sear of agony burning fiery trails through his body and leaving him with the taste of coppery blood. There is a voice in his head, his voice, asking questions.

Illumi tries to gasp, tries his best to breathe through the blood in his throat. He turns his head with whatever strength he's had left up to mother, who is warm and sharp and smiling, who crouches down with all the majesty in the world and props him up and sits him on her lap.

Mother, who tells him as she strokes his hair and presses his head against her ribcage, to _finish your food, Illumi._

At first he is about to protest, the magic of the brioche and its caramel pallor long lost when he starts to convulse. His eyes stare into his mother's eyes, waiting for her to tell him otherwise, but all she does is raise her eyes and _it will make you stronger._

Kikyo reaches for the dessert with spidery fingers and places it in his chubby hands. Her other hand holds his shoulder in place when he tries to slide off of her, to reject her.

 _Stop resisting,_ she scolds. _Don't you see I'm doing this for your own good?_

Her voice is high-pitched and shrill in his ears, and even though Illumi is two years old, he recognizes the change in his mother's tone. Like all children, he knows not to anger his mother.

Reluctantly, Illumi breaks off a piece of brioche and places it in his mouth. His hands form fists and his eyes force themselves open, and Illumi coughs out a weak little _yes, mother_ to show that he has swallowed.

Immediately after that his mouth clamps down to stop the bile from exiting his mouth. In the meantime, a switch flips. Kikyo looks at him with love and love and love in her eyes and strokes his head with a pale hand. _Iiko*_ , she says, trembling shoulders and sharp smiles. _Iiko_ , _Illumi._

He doesn't know what that means. From here, Illumi can only see the way the corners of his mother's mouth sharpen, the harsh outline of her teeth gnashing together as dragon hands rub his back. _You will become a marvelous assassin_ , she coos, and Illumi begins to realize that the inkling is no longer an inkling anymore. He is not entirely sure if it's the poison spreading through his body or the oncoming fever that makes him realize. It may also be the way his mother laughs, quiet then soft then loudloudloud. Something bubbles up inside himself when she cradles him close to her chest and calls for a butler to clean the mess. Later on it will be a feeling, that he, when Illumi has scars with stories and mother's hands no longer combing through his hair, associates with betrayal.

Now, when Illumi is two years old and whole, he only wants mother to rub his back tell him stories painted in blood.

-x-

When he thinks back to that moment, blurred to the core with his thoughts and Kikyo's smiles, Illumi believes that many of his other memories were less wholesome.

Before Illumi turns three, Kikyo's love is in the form of fingers running through his hair and arms pulling him to her chest, of food filled with toxic chemicals and his mother's spidery hands.

(When Illumi is two years old his mother gives him poison, and he is too young to distinguish the familiar want of making her proud from the dawning realization.

The inkling is no longer an inkling.)

-x-

 _(He will become a wonderful assassin. And before his brothers are born, before he quietly realizes his social circle was only limited to his mother's calculating eyes and side-glances of his father's profile and the stony faces of butlers, Illumi believes that this is what he wants.)_

-x-

There is a second and third and fourth time. And after that he loses count of the amount of times he's passed out.

After he is four, he stops screaming; when he is three and he can't help it, Kikyo covers his mouth and tells him to swallow.

-x-

 **Personally, I love Illumi. I mean, like, what an** _ **asshole**_ **. I've had this strange fixation on him for a while, enough to even warrant him an important role in my other hxh story xD. Hell, I've become fixated with the whole entire family. God, that family.**

 **A thank you to Sano Sauro for sending me a list of prompts !**

 ***iiko - /Japanese/ - translates to 'good boy/girl' or 'good child'**

 **I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Leave a review or PM if you have any questions or comments :). Forgive me for any grammatical mistakes or OC characterizations. I've always wanted to write about an Illumi before he was slowly being molded by his parents. (And even when he isn't, I suppose he is :0)**

 **Til next time~**


End file.
